Red Tide
by colormeahotmess
Summary: Jason is his brother, after all, and Dick has always taught him that family stands together, "even when one particular member is being a complete moron."


**A/N**: Another Timmy/Jay bro-bro fic! Dick wanted to join in for the fun, so he's here too, along with a splash of Bruce. This kinda serves as a sequel to_ Kindred_, my first fic with Tim; it's not necessary, however, to read that one before you read this one. Enjoy, everyone!

**Warning(s)**: Jay's mouth. In other words, the usual.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of these characters. They are the property of DC Comics.

**Revised on January 31, 2014.**

It's been a couple of years since Tim's anniversary outing with Dick and his subsequent connection to the deceased Jason Todd. He's gained friends, lost friends, and found them again, been in a few currently dead relationships, and prevented a multitude of Gotham's worst moments; and through it all, he's somehow managed to keep both his head and heart (relatively) intact. He supplies gratitude to those he holds closest: Dick, Bruce, Alfred, Barb, Cass, Steph, the Titans…and Jason.

Over time, his bond with the older boy has become somewhat stronger, even if they are separated by the grave. He periodically delivers flowers to his gravesite, and then Dick discovers his outings and adds a dark chocolate two-layer cake to the occasion, which they eat on a picnic blanket provided by Alfred. Every year, after his small piece is consumed, Tim takes a long moment to admire the tall angel above the grave, stone wings outstretched to the sky. And he offers a small prayer for his brother, even as his inner analyst reminds him that prayers aren't proven to help anyone, especially those who have already met their demise.

That doesn't stop him from hoping it reaches Jason, despite the odds.

Ultimately, he thinks the prayers fail. Or at least, if they do reach their destination, Jason lacks any appreciation for them.

Tim's life is upended abruptly (for only the 562nd time since he became involved with the Bat family) during a trip to Titans Tower, when his dreams become reality in the worst possible way.

He is officially introduced to his heroic predecessor, only to be bombarded with knives, bullets, and a tsunami of crimson hatred that almost burns him to ash.

Despite his injuries and bitter disappointment, he can't blame his attacker. He can envision the hurt and confusion running rampant through Jason's thoughts, the belief that his position in the family (in his father's _heart_) has been abandoned in favor of another.

He does the only thing he can do. Inform Bruce and Dick of the incident, silently beg them to understand Jason's predicament, and continue placing flowers on his grave. He reads every headline about the Red Hood, watches as the body count climbs and the red tide washes down the streets, and he knows that unless a serious change is made, this family war will _not_ end well.

Batman refuses to confront the issue. Shortly after his own reunion with his resurrected son, he falls back into the depths of his isolation, and treats each day like a repeat of Jason's passing. He leaves the memorial Robin suit standing in the Cave, concluding that Jason's return "doesn't change anything."

At some point he finds Bruce in Jason's room, the quarters still kept intact by Alfred's faithfulness, despite the fact that it's been unoccupied for half a decade. His adopted father sits on the edge of the downy comforter, and in his hands lies a picture, a photograph of a life so long past. Within the photo, Bruce sits on the living room sofa with a rare look of contentment on his face, a quirk to his lips suggesting a smile or quiet laugh. On his right sits Dick, eyes sparkling with loosely-held elation, his smile wide enough to show his entire set of pearly whites. Between them, a younger boy lounges, his arms tossed around each man's shoulders, his grin equal parts joyous and cocky. While the two men around him are decked in a suit and light sweater, he dons a thin t-shirt and ripped jeans, the first traces of manhood showing in the lean muscles of his torso and arms and the very light stubble decorating his chin.

Tim's long memorized the photo. The moment showcases the last few months of Jason's life before the explosive argument with Bruce and the subsequent search for his biological mother that took him away forever.

By the time he comes back to himself, Bruce is gazing at him, icy eyes shining. He places the picture back on the dresser with a certain reverence and walks slowly from the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He looks as if to leave without a word of acknowledgement, but he unexpectedly stops, stares, and gently places a heavy, comforting hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim can't help but lean into the touch, just slightly; affection from his new father is so scarce, after all, and his concern for Jason's well-being shadows over him like a cold rain. They've all noticed, and now that the air between them is (mostly) clear, Dick makes it his personal duty to force Bruce into a much-needed embrace at least once during his visits to the manor.

They are all secretly comforted when Bruce begins to return it.

Now, Bruce nods to him, and with a light squeeze, releases him to return to the Cave. As he retreats, his voice travels back to his youngest.

"We won't leave him behind."

It is a vow as abiding as his protection of their city. Perhaps more so, with his son's salvation on the line.

Tim decides, then, to do something, to somehow make this better. Jason _is_ his brother, after all, and Dick has always taught him that family stands together, "even when one of us is being a stubborn bastard."

So his search begins. He tracks any and all sightings of the Red Hood, hoping for a lead. He conducts his investigation in the privacy of his room and denies everything when Dick questions his activities in the early hours of the morning. The constant, soothing _tap-tapping_ of his keyboard becomes a familiar companion.

Finally, he hits gold.

The next time he sees Jason, it's an inviting summer evening; a nearly invisible moon hangs in the black, star-studded sky as a slim white witness. The perfect night, Tim thinks as he suits up, for a warm reunion between brothers.

In later reflection, he has to convince himself that he actually survived the events that took place after his swift exit into the night.

Robin crouches behind a heavy metal unit, alert for anything that might reveal his hiding place. An opportunity like this is too precious to waste, even at the risk of Batman's wrath.

The two men he watches are speaking in surprisingly quiet tones, actions neither of them are known for, what with one's openness and the other's disregard for common courtesy. Nightwing's blue emblem shines in the darkness as he sits on the concrete rooftop, legs swinging like a metronome. Red Hood stands nearby, close enough to participate in the exchange, far enough to convey his distrust.

Despite the obvious tension, the companionship between them is apparent, and Robin lifts an eyebrow as Nightwing laughs loudly and makes a smart remark about green-scaled shorts and a baby-blue blanket. Soon after his joke, silence overtakes the moment, and Robin gulps inaudibly as Red Hood appears to tense before he lowers his chin and removes the crimson helmet covering his skull. Immediately, Robin recognizes the boy's face in the photographs he's examined so closely. It's older, more angular, but the familiar elements are there. The sculpted nose and strong chin, the arrogant tilt of his lips, the shaggy black hair gleaming with red undertones.

His eyes have the largest impact. Powerful, unyielding, _angry_, they puncture the darkness like blue switchblades.

Nightwing is unaffected. If anything, the smile on his lips widens and his body relaxes further. This Jason must be closer to the over-eager protégé he knew, even if the man now overtakes him in height and build. And though his mask remains over his eyes, Robin knows that Bludhaven's protector has momentarily left, leaving Dick in his place.

"You're not looking too shabby, Jaybird. You've even got chin hair."

Jason himself seems a little less perturbed by the situation with his helmet removed, and he slowly eases his stance and takes a seat against the roof's high ledge. He snorts at the nickname and scratches at the stubble covering his jaw.

"Coming back from the _dead_ can kinda mess with your look, y'know?"

Dick doesn't bite. "Well, I'll bet Alfred would be more than happy to fix you up. You know he can't stand any hint of untidiness."

Another rude snort, though the hard lines around Jason's mouth soften slightly at the butler's mention. "Does he still make that fruit tart?"

"Every summer. Just had a piece this morning."

"_Damn _if that stuff wasn't good." Robin's ears perk at the small hint of regret in the his voice, and he unconsciously leans closer to the two men.

Dick looks to Jason, the invitation in his eyes obvious. "You could have some yourself, you know."

"Smooth, Golden Boy. 'Cause I didn't see _that_ coming a mile away." The words drip with caustic sarcasm, but Dick persists, expertly retaliating.

"Then you should know the offer stands. _You_ just have to get off your high horse and accept it."

"Accept this: fuck off."

In retrospect, Robin doesn't know _what_ possessed him at that moment. The only thing he _does_ know is that one moment he's stationed safely behind his chosen edifice, and the next he's jumping out and exclaiming, "You should come by!"

A horribly awkward silence follows his exclamation, and Robin (now Tim, because only Tim would do something this openly brazen) is painfully reminded that-

1) he shouldn't have revealed his position, and-

2) he really has no right to speak to Jason as if the two of them interact regularly, especially considering the fact that Jason more or less curses his existence.

Nevertheless, he stands his ground and watches the reactions of the two men before him. One face seems encased in stone as he stares at the boy with an unreadable expression. The other seems to be struggling with laughter as he covers his mouth with a gloved hand and releases a muffled chortle, _the jerk_.

"…I mean, if you want to. For the fruit tart."

Jason still watches him with a mask of vacancy; Dick, in contrast, loses his battle and falls to the side, his guffaws echoing across the open air.

"_Seriously_, baby brother, you _need_ to work on your introductions!"

With a glare, Tim turns back to Jason to see him finally open his mouth, lips curling in a mean smirk.

"Look, kid, I don't know where the hell you came from, but where _I'm_ from, eavesdropping is considered rude. Not that anyone on my block ever cared to follow the rules."

Straightening his back, Tim calls on his cool intellect and wavering courage. "I set up surveillance around the city to see where you might show up. It didn't take long to get a lead, and once I found you...I had to come." He maintains eye contact with Jason as he speaks; close to the corners of his vision, Dick finally calms, a humored sigh gusting his lips.

"At least he's honest." The oldest ward rises from his seat on the ground and strides closer to Tim, still sounding greatly amused as he puts a hand on his shoulder. "Timmy has a history of stalking Bat family members. It's really not surprising for him to be here, when you think about it."

"Most people would try to avoid the guy who put them through the grinder." Jason's stare narrows in obvious warning, his eyes sharpening into glass shards.

Tim sees his strategy. Rile the target until he's angry enough to try something foolish and earn a beat-down. And while this moment may not be his brightest, Tim's always prided himself on being intelligent enough to outmatch anyone's game.

This time, he throws intelligence to the wind all at once, and decides to be really brave and completely _stupid_.

"I don't think you should be lecturing anybody on danger avoidance. _You're_ the one who went after the same psychopath who essentially blew you up."

Over the roaring of blood in his ears, Tim can hear the gasp wheezing past Dick's lips as he looks at him with wide, shell-shocked eyes, muscles already tensing to keep Jason from cracking the boy's head on the concrete.

He can read the obituary now. _Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. Beloved son. Cause of death: Beaten by bucket-wearing brother._

Practically the story of his life.

Jason, who, surprisingly, _hasn't_ lunged like a raging bull, continues to stare him down, threat simmering.

Before he _laughs_. _Hard_.

His head throws itself back in comedic fashion, blue eyes tightly shut and leather-clad arms gripping his quivering stomach. Tim releases a bated breath even as he struggles to recognize the man in front of him. All over again, he's introduced to the ghost boy from years past, youthful and boastful and happy.

He looks to Dick, and he doesn't seem to be faring any better. He gazes at Jason as if trying to pinpoint the moment the younger man became a carbon copy of…well, himself.

Luckily, the scene doesn't last long enough to be altogethertraumatizing. Jason returns to his senses, though a large grin continues to play on his lips.

"Damn, kid, maybe you're not so bad a replacement, after all! You got the balls for it, I'll give you that."

Tim remains outwardly neutral, face devoid of little more than a quiet hauteur; beneath the surface, however, he can feel his ego gradually swelling, knowing the man's roundabout compliment is a rarity he'll probably never experience again.

"So…you're _not_ going to kill him. Right?" Dick is still disoriented from the recent exchange, his body only beginning to relieve its tension. His eyes remain wary, as if Jason will suddenly change his mind and decide that the death of another Robin is necessary.

The younger man acknowledges him with a disappointed shake of the head. "Oh, ye of so little faith. Tell you what, to prove that I'm at least somewhat stable, I'll leave without touching him. Deal?" Quirking his brow as a gesture of solidarity, Jason lifts his helmet and places it back over his skull, securing the latches. For the first time, Tim doesn't feel a sense of foreboding at the sight of the crimson covering.

"Well, it's been fun, as far as family reunions go. Unfortunately, I've got some gangbangers to decapitate."

Dick's eyebrows furrow. "You mean 'incapacitate'?"

The blank gaze of the Red Hood stares for a moment before he turns away too casually.

"…sure, _that's_ what I meant."

With that, he makes his departure, tossing a two-fingered salute and a "see ya 'round, kid!" as he disappears over the side of the building.

For a moment, Tim and Dick remain in place, eyes locked to the spot where Jason vanished. Eventually, Tim turns to his older brother, face resigned.

"You're going after him, aren't you?"

Dick sighs with an air of suffering. "Yep." He turns to Tim with a smile and a pat on the shoulder. "And _you_ should probably get back to patrol before Big B finds out. If he hasn't already."

Tim adopts a look of slight guilt. "Yeah."

Dick chuckles and makes his way to the ledge. "I guess your little mystery case is solved. But next time, let me know when you're gonna do something that gutsy. A nice warning before my heart attack starts up would be great."

"I'll see what I can do, but I'm not making any promises." Tim's tone (now Robin's because only Robin could sound this mischievous) houses little regret, and Dick comes to one solid conclusion as he shoos the smaller bird away.

_Fifteen minutes, and Jason's already a bad influence._ _God help us all._


End file.
